


Love Once Tasted

by ravenbringslight



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, BUT ONLY TEMPORARILY, Crossdressing, Genderswap, Jealousy, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Relationship(s), Pre-Canon, Pre-Thor (2011), Public Hand Jobs, Rimming, Seduction, Sibling Incest, Thor (Marvel) is Not Stupid, korean translation available, loki isn't as clever as he thinks he is, poor lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 17:03:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12964191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenbringslight/pseuds/ravenbringslight
Summary: Loki and Thor’s ill-advised summer of passion had ended in flames a year ago, and here Loki is still havingfeelingsabout it. How long is he going to moon over his thrice-bedamnedbrother?And Thor is starting to think that Loki has broken him, that he has been thoroughly ruined for anyone else, for none can stir him the way his brother did. Perhaps that was Loki’s plan from the beginning, trickster that he is.They can only resist each other's pull for so long, for love once tasted cannot be denied.AKA, the one where Loki disguises himself as a woman to seduce his brother.





	Love Once Tasted

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for cuquas, who won a fic from me in a giveaway and wanted a past relationship with jealousy and seduction. hope you enjoy <3
> 
> this fic now available in [Korean](https://lltrnslts.postype.com/post/1347917)! thank you lilylys!

Loki wakes tangled in his sweat-soaked sheets, gasping and hard. His dream still lingers and if he closes his eyes again he can chase it -- Thor moving on top of him...in him...all around him -- and involuntarily he rocks his hips, thrusting against a memory. 

The physical sensation is fading fast, but more than that he’s chasing that sick feeling of utter relief he had felt when dream-Thor had come back to him. _”I’ve been a fool, Loki. I’ve missed you. I love you. I’m here now.”_ Cloyingly sentimental as they are, they’re words the real Thor would never say -- that Loki would never expect or want him to say -- but the way they had melted his dreamer’s heart is undeniable.

And infuriating.

Loki and Thor’s ill-advised summer of passion had ended in flames a year ago, and here Loki is still having _feelings_ about it. How long is he going to moon over his thrice-bedamned _brother?_

Angrily, he ignores his erection and throws the covers off. He is _not_ going to finish what his dream self started. He is going to go take a cold shower and enforce his mind over his annoyingly hard matter, and then he is going to crack open the latest book he’s acquired from Vanaheim, and he is pointedly _not_ going to think about all of Thor’s...points.

Damn it.

The ache in his chest doesn’t go away though, as it never does, no matter how many cold showers he takes or how many densely academic (some might even say _boring_ ) books he reads. 

Because the nauseating fact is that he _does_ miss his brother. Terribly, painfully, in every single way that he shouldn’t.

 _”I’ve missed you,”_ dream-Thor whispers in his ear while the chill water runs over his body, and he shudders with warmth rather than cold. Loki tries not to think of the summer they spent in each other’s arms, protestations of undying devotion on their lips as they rode each other into the mattress (and the sleeping roll, and the stable loft, and the topiary, and…). Because it had all been lies, hadn’t it? Of course he hadn’t realized it had been lies at the time, which is what is so painful about it now when he’s forced to remember it. Which is why he doesn’t do that. Remember it, that is. At all. Ever.

(Except that he’s doing it right now. Like he does almost every day, if he’s honest with himself.)

(He doesn’t like being honest with himself. It isn’t very fun.)

Cock successfully untouched, he steps dripping from the bath chamber and glares at the books sitting on his desk while he towels off his hair. He’d rather set fire to them than read them. He wonders what Thor is doing today. Probably sparring, like he usually does, then going tavern crawling with his imbecile friends to drink and fuck the rest of the night away, also like he usually does.

Without Loki, like he always does.

With wisps of the dream still clinging to his bones, Loki can’t muster up as much anger as usual. The pitiful spark of it dies and in its absence he’s sad and he’s lonely and he wants Thor so badly that it twists his guts into knots.

He falls onto his bed and buries his head under a pillow and there in the moist humid darkness he concocts a very foolish plan.

*

Thor has been cheerfully losing at dice for the past two hours. Cheerfully, because the company is good and the beer is better and it’s pleasant to lose himself in gaming and boasting. This has always been one of his favorite taverns; the common room is snug and clean and welcoming with just enough shadows around the edges to make it cozy rather than seedy, and the clientele isn’t the type to be impressed by a prince in their midst.

Also, and perhaps most importantly, Loki has been feuding with the proprietor for the last two decades, so Thor is unlikely to run into his brother here.

His brother, with the laughing green eyes and the tongue as sharp as the daggers he keeps up his sleeves. His brother, who makes him lose all sense of decency and self-control with one considered look.

There’s been a pretty redheaded maid hanging off his elbow all evening and Thor supposes she’s nice enough. Her sense of humor is good and her mouth is a bit large for her face but she uses it to good effect, smiling to show off her even white teeth, pouting generously. In the past he might have tumbled her twice already upstairs and been back down for more merrymaking, but he just can’t stir himself tonight.

The truth is that his body craves only one other, and it is not this woman, no matter how winsome she is.

It wasn’t until he fell into bed with Loki that Thor learned what real desire was, and now that he’s tasted it a facsimile just won’t do. But no one else has been able to ignite such passion in his breast. Loki is the only one who does and he is the one person Thor cannot allow himself to have. It is perhaps _because_ he’s not allowed to have that he wants so deeply; the very strength of the taboo only adds to the intensity of the need.

Thor is starting to think that Loki has broken him. Thor hasn’t touched him in a year or more, not since their last disastrous argument, and he’s had no dearth of partners both attractive and eager since then; he is well sought-after as a bed partner and always has been. But every one of them has left him cold.

The heated words fall flat. The motions feel clinical. 

It’s not possible that Loki is the most skilled lover in the Nine Realms. And yet...

No one else can even hold a candle to his brother. Thor has been thoroughly ruined. 

Perhaps that was Loki’s plan from the beginning, trickster that he is.

Thor blows on his dice and casts them again and loses again and the redhead pats his arm encouragingly.

“You’ll win next time,” she says with a wink. “I’m sure of it.” She leans towards him to stand up and lets her breasts brush against him, then trails her hand along his arm as she passes. As invitations go, it’s not particularly subtle. Thor debates following her. He is nothing if not stubborn, and he is determined to at some point (eventually?) fuck someone other than his little brother and enjoy it.

Just because he’s feasted in Valhalla doesn’t mean he can never savor ordinary repast ever again.

Right?

Right.

He stands up and turns around and nearly bumps noses with another woman.

“I’m sorry,” he says, taking a step back.

His first thought: she’s incredibly tall to be bumping noses with him. 

His second: she’s absolutely stunning, not just in height, but in the handsomeness of her face, the cascade of black hair falling in long loose waves down her back -- the regal carriage of her shoulders and slimness of her hips putting him in mind of a blade, angular and sharp -- and her kohl-rimmed eyes just as keenly edged, though they are widened in momentary shock.

Third: he has the strangest feeling he knows her from somewhere.

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry,” she says, and her voice reminds Thor of the quicksilver flash of salmon in a stream. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.” She smooths her hair back from her face, then gives him an appraising look and taps one finger to her lips. “Although, actually, maybe I shouldn’t be that sorry after all.”

Something about her is fascinating and familiar, but Thor can’t yet put his finger on it. He makes up his mind to find out. It seems a more pleasant diversion than any he has yet found this evening. 

“Have a drink with me?” Thor asks. “Since we are both so very apologetic we can take turns buying them.”

She laughs and puts one elegantly manicured hand on her cocked hip, meets his eyes with a challenge. “And what is the first prince of Asgard’s poison?”

“Ale. I fear I’m a simple man.”

It earns him a tinkling laugh that spills from lips ruby-red, and a raised eyebrow arching delicately like a raven’s wing.

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” she says. There is something unreadable about her tone, but there is warmth in it as well.

“And yours?”

She licks her lips with just tip of her tongue and for the first time in forever Thor feels his breath catch.

“Ember wine.”

Thor can’t help himself and he smirks just a bit. “You have expensive taste.”

“What’s the use in seducing a prince if you can’t make it worth your while?” she says boldly with one corner of her mouth raised in mischief and a sparkle in her eyes; the expression on her face reminds Thor uncannily of his brother and he feels a tingling heat in his belly.

Thor covers the resulting flush with a laugh, and it’s even a genuine one, full-throated and booming. “Indeed,” he says, placing his hand on the small of her back, all thoughts of the redhead from earlier fled. “Let us see if this tavern lives up to your high standards.”

*  
When Loki had first conceived the idea of seducing his brother in the guise of a woman, all that was in his mind was the overwhelming need to touch Thor again. To feel Thor’s skin, slip his hands into the golden wheat tangle of his hair, mark him with lips and teeth; inhale his musky scent; hoard every touch that Thor gave back so that he might replay every one of them later in the privacy of his own room.

Hear Thor’s voice turned towards him with words of welcome and praise instead of bitterness and hurt.

Sit in Thor’s lap and stare into the dark-rimmed sapphires of his eyes until he drowns in them.

Pretend that it’s all a bit of fun and not the desperate gambit of a desperate man.

What Loki wasn’t counting on was his plan going off so bloody _well_.

Thor is pathetically easy to seduce, and it makes Loki _angry_.

All he had to do was bump into the witless oaf and arch his eyebrow suggestively, and he already has Thor eating out of the palm of his hand. Literally. They have absconded to a dark alcove in the corner and bought each other drinks and fed each other grapes from their fingers. Right now Thor is chuckling at a jest Loki’s just made and he’s tracing his finger lightly over the back of Loki’s hand. Loki is shivering and furious.

How many times have they lain with each other, swearing fidelity until the end of time? How many times have they wrapped themselves around each other in the aftermath of lovemaking, sweaty and sated and glowing, promising that none could tear them asunder? _I’d die without you,_ Thor had told him, kissing his eyelids. _There is no one else for me. Not ever._ Loki had believed the truth spoken in their words, in the trembling of their limbs, but it is all poison, all of it.

Because now here Thor is lavishing all of his attention on a woman, a stranger. Giving Loki-as-lady his gazes and the heated brush of his fingers, his banter, his laughter. All of the things he has promised and denied Loki-as-Loki.

And Loki hates it and he adores it in equal measure, for even though Thor thinks he is flirting with a stranger, he _is_ flirting with Loki. And Loki’s starved heart eats up every scrap of it and begs for more.

Loki despises both of them.

He finds himself leaning in to better hear Thor’s low rumbling voice, putting on a show of adjusting his skirts in order to inch closer, making eyes like a moonstruck child. Laughing at jokes he would normally roll his eyes at. Their thighs brush and Thor deepens the contact, pressing back against Loki with the entire length of his leather-clad leg. Even through the layers of skirt and legging Loki can feel Thor’s heat and it makes his pulse race.

He realizes he is jealous of himself and almost laughs at the absurdity of it.

Loki’s cup is empty but Thor’s still has a pull left in it, so Loki rotates the mug and finishes it off, wiping his upper lip with his fingertips and hiccuping lightly.

“Come here,” Thor growls, and then, shockingly, his hands are on Loki’s waist and he hoists him into his lap.

“Oh!” Loki says, high and breathy. His voice as a woman is low as far as women’s voices go, but still so much higher than the sound he’s used to hearing from his own throat. His legs straddle Thor’s lap, his skirts covering both of them, and Thor leans in to nuzzle at Loki’s neck. Loki can’t help but gasp and tilt his head to give Thor better access. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands; there are so many places he’d like to put them. Cupping Thor’s chest, squeezing his biceps, running around his ribs to clutch at his shoulderblades, burrowing into his hair.

“You still haven’t told me your name,” Thor says. His own hands are busy trying to find the edges of Loki’s skirt and snake underneath them. Finally he succeeds, and his hands are brands on Loki’s thighs.

“I haven’t,” Loki agrees, lightheaded and dizzy. He wants to kiss Thor. He wants to bite him, sink his teeth in and draw blood for this dishonorable tryst, for this insult to Loki’s memory.

“Shall I guess?” Thor asks. He presses his mouth to the hollow just behind Loki’s ear, hot and wet. “Astrid.” His fingers dig into Loki’s thighs just above his knees. Loki can feel Thor’s hardening cock through his leggings.

“No,” Loki whispers. His hands have made up their mind and have twined themselves around the back of Thor’s neck. He needs the support to hold himself up.

“Svanhild.” Thor’s hands move up, kneading, working the meat of Loki’s thighs in his strong fingers. It is nearly enough to bruise.

Loki shakes his head mutely and tries to resist the urge to buck against Thor’s hardness between his legs. He’s finding it hard to formulate words at the moment.

“Ah, I know,” Thor murmurs. His palms slide around and grab Loki’s ass roughly, one cheek in each ungentle hand, and his mouth whispers directly into Loki’s ear, his damp breath in the shell of it making Loki shudder. His voice is strained and uneven. “ _Brother_.”

Loki feels like he’s just been skewered with a red hot poker.

He might have run, might have wailed, might have spit in Thor’s face, but Thor’s hands on his ass are crushing in their strength and Thor yanks him impossibly closer, grinding their hips together, and his snarling mouth swallows Loki’s cry of dismay.

It’s a struggle. Loki trying to get away, trying to pry Thor’s hands from him. Thor holding him pinioned with unwavering force, devouring him whole. By the time Thor lets Loki’s mouth go, the struggle to get away has turned into the struggle to get closer, and they are both clawing at each other with desperate hands.

“How did you know?” Loki pants into Thor’s neck, wriggling despite himself as Thor’s finger brushes over the pucker of his hole.

“Little things. They added up.” Their mouths slot together again and it’s gentler than it was before but still fierce. Loki sighs into it. This is the first time he has ever been able to touch his brother like this in anything other than absolute secrecy and it’s lighting him on fire.

Loki pulls back this time, drawing a strand of saliva with him until it breaks and lands on Thor’s lip. Loki licks it off. “Tell me how I failed,” he whispers, and noses at Thor’s neck while he does.

“I knew that I knew you from the moment I saw you.” Thor is circling his finger around Loki’s hole now, making him squirm. “But I didn’t know why. Something in your bearing. So I was already on alert. And then...the way you twirled your hair around your finger. The way you peeled the skin off your grapes, starting at the stem end and tearing off strips like a little star. When my capon came out you picked out and ate the pine nuts without even asking because you know I hate them. You rotated my mug before you drank from it, which you always do for some reason I’ve never quite figured out.” He pauses and his voice drops half an octave. “The way that you made the blood sing in my veins and in my cock though no person has been able to since the day I last bedded you.” 

Loki shudders against him, the words an agonizing balm. His brother is clever and Loki is a fool. Sometimes Thor hides his cleverness so well that even Loki forgets. The barest tip of Thor’s finger breaches him and Loki moans ever so slightly.

“And then,” Thor says, so softly Loki can barely hear it through the rushing in his ears, “just to make sure, I pulled you onto my lap, and I smelled you. Loki. I could no sooner forget your scent than I could forget my own name.”

Loki bites back a cry and lets his head drop to his chest, his fingers still locked around Thor’s nape, and he pushes the top of his skull against Thor’s hard collarbone and rolls himself back against Thor’s intruding fingers.

“Why?” Thor asks. His hand stills.

Rocking his head into his brother’s chest and squeezing his eyes shut, and sick unto death of his own weakness, Loki tells the truth. 

His words are exhaled more than spoken, gossamer things that waft away on the breath that birthed them.

“I missed you.”

*

Thor can hardly believe the words spilling from Loki’s lips.

“And you knew you could not have me as yourself,” Thor says.

Loki seems to have no voice left in him at all and he shakes his head. 

“You thought to have me as someone else then, to take for yourself that which you deny me?”

“What would I deny you? You have made it clear you want nothing from me.”

“My brother’s kisses. My brother’s touches. A stranger’s in their stead, and me none the wiser for it.”

“I am nothing if not selfish.”

“You’re a fool.”

“That too.”

“Loki.” Thor frees his left hand to nudge Loki’s chin up until they’re looking into each other’s eyes. His brother’s face is different in this form, but now that he knows what to look for he can see the familiar lines of it hidden inside the glamour. “We cannot do this. You know we cannot. You damn us both.”

“But like this, who will know?” Loki says, eyes too big, breath too fast, and he flexes his ass against Thor’s other hand and inhales sharply when Thor grabs it harder. “Take me upstairs and they’ll think you’ve bedded the comely woman you’ve been dandling all night.”

Thor grabs his shoulder and shakes him. He is angry that Loki has done this. Has put them in this position, is making Thor push away that which his heart desires most. “And then what? Shall you come back here again in this form? People will begin to ask who you are.”

“I’ll take different forms. A new face every month. Women. Men.”

The pleading in Loki’s voice cracks Thor’s heart, for it echoes Thor’s own need.

“Do you remember nothing of how we ended?” Thor asks bitterly. He remembers it well, indeed can never seem to purge it from his mind. “We can never leave anything well enough alone once we start it. It will become impossible to hide. We will bring shame upon _everyone_. You know this. You _know_.”

“I don’t care,” Loki says wildly. “Only tonight, then. A happy memory to end on. You want this too or I wouldn’t be in your lap right now.”

Thor curses as Loki bears down on his erection, because he knows that this much is true.

He stands in one swift motion, scooping Loki up with one hand behind the knees and the other wrapped around his shoulders, and Loki clutches at him.

“Tell me, Brother,” Thor growls in his ear as he takes the stairs two at a time, “do you have a sweet little cunt in this form?”

“No,” Loki says, sucking a bruise onto Thor’s neck. “It’s just a glamour. I was going to have you fuck my ass if we got that far.”

Thor has a standing room at this tavern, and he kicks the door open to carry Loki across the threshold, then slams it shut by leaning back hard against it. He drops Loki’s legs to the floor and wraps his arms around his brother’s slim waist and lets his lips take that which has long been barred to him. Kisses to start with.

Loki presses back up into him, eager. In a wash of gold and green he shifts, his waist thickening, his chest broadening and flattening out, his features sharpening, until the curves and planes fitted under Thor’s hands are the ones as familiar to him as his own.

Their mouths reacquaint themselves until they’re breathless. Loki opens up and Thor licks into him, hungry and demanding. Loki sucks on his tongue and bites it just too hard to be called gentle.

Thor pushes Loki back with two hands on his upper arms.

“The dress wasn’t a glamour,” Thor says, raking his eyes down his brother’s beautiful body. Green and gold brocade hug his middle indecently and yet gape open at his utter lack of bosom to reveal his pale chest, and the gathered fall of his skirts conceals the miles of leg that Thor knows lie underneath. The neckline is so wide that Loki’s shoulders are nearly bare, and Thor leans in to gnaw on one of them.

“Nor the kohl,” Loki murmurs, hugging Thor’s head to his breast.

“On the bed, wench.”

Thor practically tosses Loki facedown on the bed. He grabs Loki’s hips and yanks them into the air until Loki’s knees are under him, then pushes up the acres of fabric that make up Loki’s skirts. It is a lovely sight, his brother’s bare ass sticking enticingly up in the air, his skirts pooled around him like a nest of green silk. His ass cheeks are already starting to bruise from the force with which Thor had gripped him down in the common room.

Taking one milky globe in each hand, Thor pulls his brother’s cheeks apart and licks him once, from balls to tailbone and directly over his twitching hole, and is gratified to hear the resulting moan.

“More,” Loki begs and Thor obliges.

He buries his face in Loki’s ass and works his brother open with tongue and fingers until he is dripping with wetness, his thighs damp from sweat and spit. Loki pushes back against him, shameless in his pleasure. His hands fist the sheets spasmodically. His head is turned to the side and when Thor comes up for air he can see his parted lips, his flushed cheeks, his upturned brows. Can feast on the litany of curses pouring softly from his lips.

Thor has missed this more than anything, his normally tight-laced brother coming apart in his hands. Thor’s own cock is hard and aching in the confines of his leggings. The part of him that was angry at Loki’s deception is distant and he cannot hear it over the strength of his want.

“I need you,” Loki pants. “Now.”

Thor shoves his leggings down to his knees and his cock springs forward and slaps Loki’s ass, drawing out a breathless giggle.

“You won’t be laughing in a second,” Thor warns, slicking them both well with oil from the bed stand and thrusting into his brother’s loosened hole. He’s not slow or particularly gentle, but he’s not trying to hurt Loki either, and Loki’s body accepts him hungrily, grasping and pulling him in. A sword fitting perfectly into its sheath.

“Oh yesss,” Loki moans. “Right where you belong.”

“By the bloody Nine,” Thor swears, and begins to move. There is nothing of tenderness about their coupling. It is frantic and messy, a year’s worth of loneliness and stress exorcised in the frenzied rutting, a lifetime’s worth of rivalry and jealousy and love. It is nearly like the first time all over again, only better because they know each other’s bodies now, know how hard and how far they can go.

“Don’t stop don’tstop _don’tstop_ ,” Loki cries over and over as Thor slams into him, driving him forward with every thrust until he has to grip the edges of the mattress or risk splintering the headboard.

“Never,” Thor growls. “I’ll never stop. I’ll fuck you until you’re dry and screaming. Until the world cracks. Until the stars fall.”

“Yes,” Loki gasps. “All of that. My brother.”

It is the last word that sends Thor over the edge, spilling deep into Loki’s ass with a shout. He would like to stay there forever, but instead he withdraws and flips his brother over onto his back. His own seed gushes from Loki’s gaping hole and he scoops it up, enters Loki with two fingers and swallows down Loki’s neglected cock until his nose brushes the dark curls at the base of it.

Loki curses and bucks against him. He comes down Thor’s throat and he tastes like green apples and the bitter tang of minerals and home.

They flop on their backs, half-clothed and half-sated. Thor wonders if it’s possible to ever be truly sated where Loki is concerned. He fears he will always crave this, until the day that his soul flies to Valhalla. Possibly even beyond that.

“Stay here,” Loki says to the ceiling. “At least for the night. It’s not out of your ordinary, no one will suspect a thing.”

“Aye.”

“Thor.”

Something in Loki’s voice makes Thor turn his head, crawl over and take his brother in his arms until they twine around each other like ivy.

He drops a kiss on the top of Loki’s head. He can feel his cock stirring again already. They’ll have each other again this night, and more than once, and his belly is already tightening in anticipation.

“Just for tonight,” Thor says.

He knows that he’s lying just as well as Loki does.

*

**Author's Note:**

> come join me at [raven-brings-light.tumblr.com](https://raven-brings-light.tumblr.com)


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